


Manflu

by toggledog



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 19:53:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5468900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toggledog/pseuds/toggledog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hotch is suffering from the flu and, reluctantly, stays home, allowing his live-in partner, Spencer to go to work. It's not fun, staying home, suffering when he could be helping with the case. It's particularly not fun staying at home, when his very gorgeous, desirable boyfriend is not within reach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Manflu

**Author's Note:**

> This could be seen as set in the world of my Reid/Hotch fic "The Other Man" but also works as a standalone fic. :)

The cough awoke him from a restless slumber. An agonised tickle in his throat that increased in ferocity. He sat up, gasping for breath, his diaphragm aching from the strain. Beside himself, Spencer jumped out of bed, swiftly walking to the en-suite.

“Spencer, I'm-” He couldn't get through the rest of the sentence, as another barrage of coughs followed. Spencer returned with a glass of water.

“Here,” he said, gently, handing him the glass, his brown eyes showing concern, love, warmth. Hotch took the glass off him and swallowed the somewhat soothing water, misery engulfing his body.

“I'm sorry,” he said, once he was able to at least speak a little.

Spencer climbed back in beside him, looking at the clock. “I don't think you should go into work today.”

“I'll be fine,” Hotch said.

“Hotch...you can barely speak without coughing...”

“I'll be alright, I'll just take a lot of 'Fishermen's Friends'.”

A determined frown down-turned Spencer's full lips. Hotch could read, from his face, annoyance intermixing with the concern and love. However, he was not going to press it. This was not Spencer's style.

“I'm sure I’ve kept you up all night,” Hotch said, noting the dark circles under Spencer's eyes.

“It's alright,” Spencer said, sounding as though he mostly meant it. He crept back under the covers, pulling them over himself, and then snuggled back up against Hotch.

A few days before, as Hotch's cold start to increase, he warned Spencer not to get too close. Spencer had replied that they lived together, slept in the same bed. No matter how far away he stayed, he explained, factoring in his general bad diet (which Hotch had been slowly attempting to fix, in the three months that they'd moved in together), as well as his general low immune system due to recent stress (his mother had taken a particular downturn), he had a ninety three percent chance of catching the virus, anyway. Hotch had no idea as to where he got that statistic from but, because it was Spencer, he believed it.

Even though he was still a little wary of the thought of Spencer feeling as miserable as he now did, he felt grateful for the warmth of the much beloved body pressed against his. He glanced over at the clock. It read four am. He doubted that he would be able to sleep, in the hour leading up to the alarm going off, but if Spencer could gain just a little, then he would feel better, himself.

*

“We're taking _my_ car,” Spencer said, as Hotch hacked up a fair amount of phlegm, on the way to the front door. “I still don't think you should be going in today, but you seem _determined_.” The irritated look then crossed his face, once more. He picked up his keys from the little bowl on the bannister, by the door, then paused. “Ok, how about bribery. What do you want? What can I give you to stay?”

“I want to go to work,” Hotch said, then coughed once more.

“You can sometimes be the most stubborn, irritating...” Spencer sighed. “You're sick, Hotch! Alright, how about this?” He threw the keys down again and wrapped his arms around Hotch, kissing his neck. “How about we _both_ don't come in today?”

_Tempting... very tempting._

“Come on, Hotch. At this point, your chances of passing on the virus to other people, is significantly high. You physically cannot operate on full capacity. All of your body's resources are going into fighting the virus. You have such a temperature, I can feel the heat radiating off your body from here.”

“Well, yes you know I'm hot,” Hotch said, straight-faced.

“Undoubtedly, but I honestly think you should call in sick.”

“You think I'm being a bit ridiculous?” Hotch said, reaching up to run his fingers through Spencer's soft curls. He was growing his hair again. Hotch had never met anyone who changed hairstyles as often as Spencer.

“Not ridiculous... just... very Hotch-like,” Spencer said, a brief smirk crossing his face.

Hotch simply stared into his face a moment, feeling the usual tingle alight his stomach. Now that Spencer was living with him, everything felt right, just. Every morning, he would look at the one he deemed not only impossibly beautiful, but also dryly witty, courageous, caring, warm, beautifully eccentric, and feel grateful for the day that he not-so-innocently offered to drive Spencer home, on the night of his birthday, then took him to a favourite seafood restaurant.

“Alright, I will stay home, on one condition,” Hotch said.

“Oh yes, what's that?” Spencer pulled back a little from the embrace. His eyes looked very wide and dark. Hotch took his hand away from his hair, to tenderly stroke his chin.

“Would you bring home some butterscotch ice cream?”

“Alright, I'll get you your damned ice cream,” Spencer said, playfully swatting his chest.

“Thank you,” Hotch leant forward and kissed his lips. Their tongues tangled a moment, before both pulled away.

“Well I'm definitely catching the virus now,” Spencer said, grinning.

“I'm sure you would have caught it from the kisses we shared last night, or the love we made the past three nights.”

“Me casa, su casa,” Spencer laughed, gesturing to both of their bodies.

“Alright, you'd better go or you'll be late. I'll call Cruz, tell him I'm not coming in.”

Spencer picked up his keys again. “Hopefully, it won't be a difficult one.”

He kissed Hotch once more on the lips. Hotch watched the lithe figure depart the house, feeling a tiny surge of disappointment usurp his stomach.

*  
Hotch awoke again a few hours later, feeling groggy and a little disorientated. He reached for his mobile, seated on the bedside table, pulling it off the charger. He'd received two text messages. One was from Rossi, informing him a little about the case. An political bomber was threatening three abortion clinics in the Washington DC area. Rossi had ended the message by texting: _Rest up. We are doing fine here_.

The next message was from Spencer, stating the approximate same message. Spencer also ended with texting: _I'm hoping you're resting and not now thinking of trying to find info about the case. That is what Garcia's for._

Hotch reached down on the ground, where his laptop lay, and switched it on, moving it onto his lap, his mind already working, thinking to past cases involving political terrorists.

*

“So you've looked into Joseph Starke and Terry Williams, as suspects? Both were charged with attempted arson of an abortion clinic in , in 2002. However, the case fell apart, when the eye witness refused to testify.”

“Yes, we're already onto it,” he could hear the humour in Rossi's voice. “See, we can operate a day without you, you know. You sound terrible, by the way.”

“I know. Is Spencer around?”

“Actually standing next to me right now. Here, I'll hand him over.”

“Hi Hotch.”

Hotch felt instant warmth, at the sound of the voice.

“Hi beautiful.”

“I'm not sure if your butterscotch ice cream will be coming. Sure, you stayed home. But you're actively trying to interfere with our investigation! Alright, maybe just one litre, rather than two.”

“I'm only trying to help,” Hotch started coughing again. “So, tell me what are you wearing?”

“Huh? What do you-? You saw me this morning. A white shirt, vest and corduroy pants.”

In the background, he could hear Rossi break up with laughter. Evidentially, Hotch's joke was completely lost on Spencer.

_Forget it._

“Alright, I'll let you get back to it. Let me know how it goes.”

“Alright, bye Hotch.”

“Bye.”

*

Hotch felt rather pleased with himself. He had diligently worked through the new cases uploaded onto his laptop, and had chosen three that were, in his estimation, the most urgent ones. All three involved serial killers. The first one had not been solved for twenty years. The killer had seemingly stopped three years ago, before a body was found, in a culvert, two weeks before. 

He closed his laptop and checked the time. One pm. Though he wasn't the least bit hungry, he supposed he'd better give his body the energy it needed, to fight the virus.

*

Hotch was lying on the sofa, drifting in and out of sleep. On the television before him, David Attenborough was talking about the rather vast collection of flora and fauna on the Galapagos Islands. Hotch had picked up the DVD amongst Spencer's rather vast collection. After ruling out many of his science fiction and fantasy movies, he had come across the Attenborough collection. His mobile phone, coming to life, spooked him awake. He reached over and grabbed it, answering.

“Hello?”

“Hi. This is proving to be a bit of a tough one,” Rossi said. “Looks like we'll be working throughout the night.”

*

Hotch flicked through his photos on his mobile, coming to his favourite one of Spencer. He took it not long after they'd made love, one morning. Spencer sat on the sofa, the sheet wrapped around his body, like a toga, a very Spencer-like bemused smile on his face. Hotch, as ever, even in the still photo, could read the excitement and joy in Spencer's eyes. Often times, in photos, Spencer's uncertainty in regards to his own looks, was evident. To Hotch, this was one of the most intriguing quirks to the genius; Spencer was so incredibly beautiful it was almost unreal, and made Hotch's heart ache, to look at him. Hotch wasn't the only one to notice. Only, Spencer didn't see what was obvious, to others. He had once told Hotch “I believe _you_ when _you_ say I’m beautiful” disregarding the evidence that Hotch saw, on an almost daily basis, of the effect his looks and genius had on other people, who would often stare, occassionally compliment, or even make underhand remarks.

However, in this photo, Spencer had been caught off-guard, had no chance to feel awkward about himself. He did, indeed, look insanely gorgeous in the photo but also... sexy... damned sexy. Hotch reached into his pyjama bottoms, stroking himself. Yes, they had made love on this very sofa, Spencer moaning, wrapping his long legs around Hotch, as he gently moved within him. Hotch was suddenly seized by a spate of coughing. He pulled his hand out of his pants.

This illness felt truly debilitating if he couldn't even masturbate himself.

*

He was awoken, once more, by his mobile ringing. Hotch reached across and picked up, groggily answering.

“Oh no, I've woken you up!” Spencer said. “Rossi has just ordered us into our motel rooms, to sleep for a few hours, before starting afresh.”

“Still not much luck, huh?”

“Oh we have a main suspect. Only, when we finally issued a warrant for his arrest, he went into hiding.”

“Hm... sounds rather suspicious.”

“I'm quite convinced he's our guy. He was arrested, in Vancouver in 1999, when he attempted to-”

Hotch started to cough.

“Poor Hotch...It's very unpleasant, being unwell. Being awoken, at three am by your boyfriend doesn't exactly help, huh?”

“Yes, it's terrible, having my beautiful boyfriend, who I love very dearly, call me to query my well-being.”

Spencer paused. “I love you too, Hotch.”

Hotch smiled. Despite the agony going on in his body, he felt very good, indeed, now.

“This is the first time I haven't had a toasty warm Spencer Reid in the bed next to me, in-”

“One hundred and- thirteen days,” Spencer said.

“Been keeping track, huh?”

“I'm being very technical here. There was that one night, if you remember the case of the Boston Poisoner? You stayed up all night, with the police. I went and slept a few hours at the motel, at your request. The next night, Rossi demanded that you get a bit of sleep. So we switched, you went to the motel and slept, and I stayed up. So neither of us slept together, in those two days.”

“Speaking of sleeping together, when I get better, I promise to... show you a good time..”

“I take it we're talking intimacy here? Because I'll look forward to that one, then. When you're well enough, I want to make love in your car. Or my car. I don't care.”

“I have absolutely no objection to that, whatsoever.”

*

“Yes, he eventually confessed. Well, with a little help from his sister, and JJ,” Rossi spoke, via mobile phone, into Hotch's ear. “We're currently on our way back, now. How are you feeling?”

“Much better. I'm glad I had a couple of days off.”

“Yes, I think we all are too. It wouldn't have been particularly fun, having you cough all over us.”

“Oh, the cough is still lingering...”

“Great...” Though he sounded sarcastic, he could hear the humour in Rossi's voice. “Do you want to speak to Spencer?”

“Sure, put him on.”

He heard laughter, then Spencer's voice. “Hello!”

“Hi beautiful.”

“Have a fun day?”

“Slept mainly. I do feel a lot better.”

“That's great! I'll be seeing you really soon.”

Hotch could hear Morgan saying something in the background. Spencer laughed. “No! No, I'm not- Sorry about this, Hotch. The others are going to the pub, once we land back in Virginia, for a few drinks. Morgan is inviting me to come with them.”

“Well, if that's what you want to do-”

“No, that's not what I want to do! Shut up, Morgan!” He said, then laughed. “Morgan is saying I might as well go to the pub because you will be no fun whatsoever and will just be a 'downer'.”

“I promise to do everything in my power to be an 'upper'. But, honestly, if you do want to have a few drinks, that's fine,” Hotch said. He wanted to see Spencer, but didn't wish to tell him what to do. Spencer was free to do as he wished.

“I haven't seen you in two days! Of course I'm coming home, as soon as we reach the office.”

“Ok, see you soon.”

*

Hotch was lying on the lounge, when the key turned in the lock. He pushed the blanket off himself, and moved into the foyer, as Spencer came in.

“Oh, yes, here you go,” he said, handing Hotch a plastic bag.

As Hotch opened the plastic bag, to discover a litre butterscotch ice cream tub, Spencer took off his scarf and coat, and placed them on the coat rack, to his left.

“Ooh great, thanks!” Hotch moved into the kitchen, with Spencer following.

“You managed to get something to eat?” He said, as he brought down two bowls, from the shelf, above his head.

“A little before we left on the jet,” Spencer said.

As Hotch started to scoop the ice cream into the bowls, Spencer came up behind him and kissed his neck, moving his hands around his waist.

“You seem much better.”

“I do feel much better,” Hotch said. He turned and handed Spencer a bowl. They then walked into the lounge room and sat down on the sofa, together.

“You know what?” Hotch now put the bowl down. “Now that I have the butterscotch ice cream, I realise that I don't want it.”

“Why am I somehow not surprised?” Spencer said, placing down his own bowl of ice cream and reaching for Hotch. “You do seem a lot better!”

*

“Spencer...” Hotch panted, leaning forward for another long, lingering kiss, as he tenderly removed himself from the willing body.

“Yes, you really are a lot better,” Spencer said, unwrapping his legs from around Hotch's neck. “I missed you at work, you know.”

“I know, I missed you too.”

*

“I'm fine, really,” Spencer said, two days later, struggling to rise from the bed, before being overcome with a hacking cough, once more.

“Alright, I'm calling us both in sick,” Hotch said.

“You're not sick! Go to work!” Spencer said.

“Allow me to take care of you,” Hotch said, gently.

“But that's not fair! You didn't allow me to stay home and take care of you, when you were sick!”

“What can I say? You know how stubborn I am.”

“Well, yes that's true,” Spencer collapsed back onto the bed. “Ok, stay home if you want. But it's not going to be very fun for you. I'll be mainly sleeping, and coughing, and feeling terrible.”

“All fine with me,” Hotch said, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. “Chicken soup and a hot toddie are in order, after I make the call.”

“Both of which have a negligible effect on a virus,” Spencer said.

Hotch smirked, taking his mobile off the charger. Unable to resist, he leant forward and kissed Spencer on the mouth.

“I love you, beautiful, so much. Even when you're sick and complaining.”

“Well, it must be a testament to how much I love you that I put up with your winging, when you were sick.”

“I didn't winge!”

“Yes, you really did,” Spencer said.

Hotch laughed.

“Alright, just relax, Spencer. Winge all you want.”

“The perfect, sexy boyfriend,” Spencer said.

Hotch kissed his lips, once more, then dialled his superior's number.


End file.
